


Heelshire Mansion's Enfer

by Anonymous



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: F/M, Fanart, Fanfiction, Femdom, Hand Jobs, NSFW Art, Oral Sex, Tags May Change, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-10-19 11:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: This artwork got "mysteriously" flagged out of Tumblr overnight ... for some reason... ಠ_ಠ Even though I don't see anything wrong with it ...... no female presenting nipple ... Idk ??Judge by yourself then.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This artwork got "mysteriously" flagged out of Tumblr overnight ... for some reason... ಠ_ಠ Even though I don't see anything wrong with it ...... no female presenting nipple ... Idk ??  
Judge by yourself then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coochie acquired


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was just practicing some anatomy! I swear! - mod Lucille


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: 17- stay with me, femdom + nsfw
> 
> Written by mod Lucille :3

“Greta?”

They were in the tunnels; Malcolm was lying on the cold ground - unconscious, with Brahms still hunched over him. Despite that, the mask was turned towards her and Greta knew she was the sole focus of Brahms’s attention. He looked barely affected, other than his ragged breathing, even after fighting (and winning) against two men. Would he catch her, if she ran now? It didn’t matter; she’d had enough of running. 

“Greta, please,” his voice changed, dropped low.

She took a step closer, “What do you want from me?”

_ (was she meant to do that?) _

He shifted towards her, forgetting about Malcolm altogether, “Stay with me.” 

“Why would I do that, Brahms?” She didn’t know where this sudden surge of confidence came from, but she wasn’t about to complain. 

“I’ll be good! I will!” Greta could hear the edge of desperation as he said that and it filled her with a strange sense of satisfaction. This man who had finally freed her from Cole, murdered him in cold blood,  _ he  _ was the one in need of guidance now. It was her turn to take care of him.

“Alright,” she approached him, faintly brushing against him in the narrow space, “but there are rules. And I really,  _ really _ hate it when you break them.” 

He stood there, motionless, making no move to protest. So, she took his silence as compliance and turned to go back up the tunnel and inside the house.

Brahms followed. She could hear his heavy footsteps behind her, his hulking figure making the air shift and the floorboards creak under its weight. It was a wonder, truly, the way he had managed to move unseen and (mostly) unheard before. Or maybe it was just her own mind, attributing everything to the supposed presence of a ghostly child.

They were a few steps away from his bedroom door when Greta felt a hand on her right arm. It wrapped around her elbow and pulled with excessive force, causing her to stumble and nearly lose her balance as she was turned around against her will. Brahms looked as surprised as she did, clearly having misjudged his own strength.

“Brahms,” she kept calm, collected, “you’ve already broken a rule.” She shook her head in disapproval, keeping up the act (if it even was one anymore), “You are not allowed to touch me without my permission.”

He stared at her, eyes wide. “Sorry! I’m sorry, Greta.”

She nodded, “You didn’t know.” She turned and walked inside his childhood bedroom, “Still, I can’t let it go. An example must be set.” She walked over to the bed, “Sit down.”

Brahms did as he was told, despite the threat of punishment. “Now lie back.” She approached the side of the bed as his head hit the pillow. He was too big for the bed, the small mattress comically small by comparison, his long legs hanging at the edge. Greta studied him for a moment; something about this contrast was very fascinating to her. 

“There will be no kiss goodnight for you. However,” her eyes dropped down, at the tightness that was beginning to strain against the fabric of his dark pants, “I think that’s not sufficient enough as a punishment.” She brushed a hand against him and she saw him shiver. Still, Brahms didn’t move, hands at his sides. “Good. You’re learning.”

Greta traced her fingers down his chest, following the dark lines of his suspenders. His stomach muscles tightened at her featherlight touch, his breathing growing laboured just like before, when he’d knocked Malcolm out (when he’d killed Cole and the red blood was still fresh on his hands). There was something so endearing about him, like this - squirming, at her mercy. She couldn’t just stop now.

The suspenders went first. Unhooking them was easier than she’d thought, leaving her plenty of time to work on the buttons of his trousers. She focused on the task, even as Brahms stiffened for a moment. 

Greta couldn’t help it; she grinned. His cock was just as big as the rest of him.

She raised her eyes to meet his through the mask, remembering herself for a moment, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Something between a whine and a growl was all the answer he gave. This wouldn’t do. 

“Answer me.” Her hand wrapped around his base, applying a small amount of pressure. 

“N-no, I don’t. Greta, I…” He didn’t manage to finish his sentence; that was all she needed from him. She took his cock in hand and gave it a long stroke, teasing the head with her thumb. The moan that escaped him sent a wave of heat between her legs. Was she the first to do this for him? In that case…

“Take it off. Take off the mask.” Greta wanted to see everything. She wanted to claim his first experience of pleasure, his first gasps and pants and glazed looks of ecstasy. She didn’t stop touching him.

Brahms hesitated for a moment but he complied. 

With the mask gone, she could finally see all of Brahms Heelshire: He lay helpless in his old bed, shirt and cardigan a mess, pants open enough to reveal his hip bones. His eyes were pure black now, pupils dilated and lips parted and moving, as if attempting to form her name again and again, but failing. Greta schooled her expression. The sight was affecting her more than she had expected. 

“Do you want to cum, Brahms?” Her tone was patient, firm. She knew the answer already, the evidence clear in the angry red colour of the tip. He was dripping in her hand already, his inexperience becoming even more obvious. Greta bit her lip; she really wanted to taste him, but now was not the time.

“Y-yes. Greta, please.”

Just this once then. He’d earned it, after all. 

Brahms cried out, as if his orgasm had taken him by surprise, his muscles locking into place, curls spilling on the pillow as he threw his head back. Greta stared, unsated but pleased nonetheless. She traced a finger lightly over the slit and brought it to her lips. 

“Well then, if there’s nothing else I’m going to retire for the night,” she stood, “I’ll see you in the morning, Brahms.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: 16-pinned down (sfw)
> 
> Written by mod Lucille

“Brahms?” 

No reply. 

Greta burst into his room, the one behind the walls, eyes darting around. Where was he? 

Police sirens blared outside the house; there was no time to waste. 

“Brahms! If you’re still here, you need to hid-” Greta didn’t get to finish her sentence. Something wrapped around her waist and she felt the ground disappear beneath her feet, pulled under by more than just gravity. Winded by the sudden fall, she only registered a warm body over her at first, elbows on either side of her head, and the slamming of wood against wood.

It was dark, but she could still make out the shape of his torso and the absence of a mask over his face. He smelled of blood and sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’d just ran a marathon. They were in some kind of crawlspace, barely big enough for both of them, which would explain why Brahms was currently pinning her with his body, trying to fit as best as he could. 

This had been such a stupid idea. She was at his mercy now and the last time they’d seen each other she had stabbed him and left him for dead. And that was exactly what she thought his fate had been, until she’d heard from Malcolm that the police had found only one body in the house.

“Look, Brahms, I’m sorry. I just came to warn you,” she spoke as fast as she could, trying to keep her voice low as panic settled in, “You helped me with Cole so I owed you one, but I have to g-”

“Greta,” his voice sounded hoarse and whatever he meant to say next was interrupted by a coughing fit that shook his entire body. Greta’s eyes drifted down, to the space between their bodies, landing on the bloody stain that was slowly painting his white shirt red. She detested the feeling of guilt in her gut. Brahms had threatened to kill Malcolm and do god knows what to her. She had simply defended herself.

Another pained groan shook her out of her thoughts. “Greta, please,” his voice got louder, “don’t leave me.” His hands gripped her upper arms, his breath hot against her cheeks. He was nearly shaking, working himself up to a panic. 

Greta could hear footsteps coming up the passage to the room, followed by faint voices. Shit, this was bad. “Calm down, I’m here,” she put on her most reassuring tone, “You need to be quiet.”

“No,” Brahms shook his head above her, his fingers digging into her skin, “no, you’re going to leave me. Everyone does.” He was hot to the touch - no doubt running a high fever. The footsteps grew closer.

Greta had no other choice. She pulled him down, using her hand to find his lips in the dark, and pressed her mouth against his. 

That shocked him enough to shut him up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: 3 - delirium 
> 
> Written by mod Lucille

“-vans?”

Greta blinked, her vision still filled with the pale blue and white of hospital walls. 

The nurse tried again, “Miss Evans.”

She looked at the woman, the hallway coming back into focus as she forced her eyes to turn. “Yes, sorry,” she attempted a small smile in the hopes of looking normal but that too faltered, “Is he okay?”

The nurse gave her a concerned look, “He’s going to be fine but he needs to stay for another 24 hours. Have you contacted his family?” Greta nodded. “Good. I suggest you get some rest too.”

With that, the other woman turned and headed back to the nurses’ station, leaving Greta to her thoughts. Her head was still buzzing with unrelenting static, memories playing over and over again until they became a uniform thing, almost malevolent in its intensity. This incessant daze had come and gone a few times in the past few hours, but Greta didn’t savour the moments of clarity either.

She had killed a man.

_ A murderer, _ a rational part of her mind offered,  _ not just a man _ . As if that made it any better. When she blinked she saw his blood on her hands, under her nails and she couldn’t breathe she couldn’t-

**THUMP**

She jumped, eyes wide. There was nobody around.

**THUMP **

The sound came again, muffled but still loud enough to make her heart stutter. Hands trembling, Greta pushed herself up.

It was coming from the walls. 

**THUMP**

She needed to follow it, needed to see for herself. 

Her feet picked up the pace -  **THUMP ** \- twisting and turning through hallways that all looked the same -  **THUMP** \- and the sound moved with her (or was it ahead of her?).

Greta took another turn and came to stand in a dark empty hallway. A single fluorescent lamp blinked to life at the very end.

Maybe she should turn back. She looked behind her and a wave of dizziness hit her. The walls turned sideways and Greta faltered, knees bending, hands bracing against the floor. How did she end up here? Retracing her steps felt nearly impossible.

The buzzing of the light at the end of the hallway caught her attention again; there, right under its sickly white glow was a body.

“Brahms?”

She dragged her knees on the cold tiles, willed her body to stand. Everything was muted; every feeling, every sound, even her own thoughts. Greta knew somewhere in the back of her mind that this was impossible, that whatever was happening to her couldn’t possibly be real. But it felt real. It felt more real than the hours spent driving, talking to the police, waiting outside Malcolm’s room. That was all nothing but a blur now.

She made it to the body. Brahms Heelshire lay there on his back, wrapped in a green cardigan, mask covering his face, still grimy and startlingly larger than the young little Brahms she had always imagined. Her eyes trailed downwards, to the red hole she had left in his stomach.

“I’m..” Greta couldn’t say it. She couldn’t apologise for this. 

Instead, she reached for the wound, the redness on her fingers matching it perfectly.

She screamed. Blood began pouring out, spreading rapidly. It covered his shirt, the floor, her hands.

Greta screamed and screamed but it wouldn’t stop so she didn’t stop either. Then someone was pulling her away and -

Her world went dark. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh a weenie


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit us  
https://heelshire-mansion.tumblr.com/


End file.
